


That We May Fall in Love

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [3]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: (its finally happening), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, mature is a bit of a stretch for rating but just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: While celebrating Arram's seventeenth birthday, things get a little out of hand. Arram is left confused and heartbroken, until Lindhall steps in to help.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Thom of Trebond, past Roger of Conté/Thom of Trebond
Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025067
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	That We May Fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Should a teacher meddle in the personal relationships of a student and whatever the fuck Thom is? Probably not. Do I care? Definitely not. 
> 
> As always, follow me on [ Tumblr! ](https://isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com/) or send me a friend request on discord @ Canadeath#1368
> 
> I made a playlist for this series because I am trash, you can listen to it here and guess the artist all the titles in this series are from  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6OrwAULjECZgyi05kcZ1nU?si=L2qKr82bT06rr9pJeYM0cw
> 
> A special thank you to Artifction for beta reading! I hope you all enjoy <3

There was a half empty bottle of expensive red wine open atop the table. Arram knew his face was flushed with alcohol, but he didn’t mind. Yesterday had been his seventeenth birthday, and while his friends had dragged him out to celebrate, all he’d really wanted was to spend a quiet evening with Thom. Of course, Thom had only rolled his eyes and encouraged him to go out with his friends.  _ 'You should spend time with people your own age Arram,"  _ he had said, and Arram neglected to remind him that Thom was only six years older. 

Alcohol tasted disgusting, Arram had found out the previous evening. His friends had convinced him to try a variety of drinking, promising that he wouldn’t be able to taste the liquor in them. His friends were  _ also  _ fucking liars.

When Thom had offered him a glass of wine earlier that evening though, Arram found he didn’t want to refuse. 

“You should be careful when drinking,” Thom told him as he poured two glasses. “I’m sure your teachers have all told you the risks, but it can make magic harder to control.” 

Arram  _ had _ been told as much. Lectures on the dangers of substances had been plentiful for him, Varrice, and Ozorne over the last few years. Particularly after the time Varrice was caught sharing a drink with Gissa,

He just made a noise of agreement, and accepted the drink. It didn’t taste good, but it was better than whatever drink Tristan had thrust into his hands the night before. 

That had been hours, and several glasses of wine ago. 

Now, Thom was laughing. It was a joyous sound, and Arram suddenly realized he’d never heard it before. Thom would smile — well, smirk usually — after saying something particularly clever, but joy was a rarity. He was much more prone to frustration and melancholy. It was a little sad really, Arram thought that Thom looked pretty when he smiled. It made him look younger, too. Thom was three months away from turning twenty-three, younger than most masters by more than half a decade, but he carried an aura of weariness that always made him seem so much older. Laughter eased that away — if only a little.

“I’m serious!” Arram continued with a smile. “Varice  _ hates _ rats.”

“One would think she would love cats if her hatred of vermin is so strong,” Thom commented, smiling as he took a sip of his drink. He held the wine glass effortlessly in his hand, swirling the liquid inside without seeming to pay attention to it. His arm was balanced atop his knee, which he had pulled up onto the sofa. Thom often sat in positions purely based on comfort, and it had the effect of making him seem aloof, or regal, even. His hands weren’t shaking too badly, the best gauge of how he was physically doing. 

Laughing himself, Arram ran a hand through his hair. It had come out of its tie a while ago, and he had yet to fix it. “She did, until one of them left a rat in her bed as a gift.”

“I’ve always been fond of cats myself,” Thom commented, gazing at his wine. “My sister had one.” There was a longing in his voice, not dissimilar from homesickness. Not for the first time, Arram wondered if he missed Tortall.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Arram said.. Thom never brought up his past. The only things Arram knew, he had found out through rumours and gossip. Like the fact that Thom was from Tortall, or that he was apparently a noble. Looking at the man, resplendent in grey silk, Arram believed it.

Thom looked up, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve never mentioned her?” The smile returned to his face, but it was sad. Arram found he wasn't as fond of this one. “Well. I’ll tell you stories of her another time, but suffice to say that she is vastly better than me in every conceivable way.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Arram told him, the words slipping past his lips without even thinking. “You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re at _ The University of Carthak. _ ” 

A self-deprecating laugh was his only response, which wasn’t exactly surprising. Arram didn’t know what made Thom hate himself so much, but it was obvious he did. It was written all over the inflection of his voice when he talked about himself, and his lack of self care.

“I’m serious,” Arram said, setting his wine glass down. He pulled his legs up to sit with them crossed. “Thom, you’re  _ amazing. _ I’ve never met somebody so smart or passionate or articulate. You know so much, I can’t even imagine the amount of time you must have spent reading and learning to know all you do. It’s phenomenal. And the way you look when you talk about something interesting or exciting. You’re- you’re  _ captivating.  _ You get this look in your eyes like it's the only thing that matters in the whole world. It’s the closest you get to happy and it’s beautiful.” He stopped talking, his face flushing bright scarlet. “Er, um, sorry, I didn’t-”

“You really think that?” Thom said. He was watching Arram with an unplaceable look.

“Well, yeah.” Arram shrugged, looking away. He could  _ feel _ how red his cheeks were. Mother Goddess grant him mercy.

He felt Thom shift, leaning toward him, and looked up surprised. 

Thom was looking at him intently, a hand drifting toward Arram’s face. His breath caught in his throat as Thom brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. Arram's pulse picked up speed.

“Thank you,” Thom said, his voice heavy with unusual vulnerability. He leaned back, but Arram caught his wrist before he could completely pull away. Thom was sarcastic and witty, but never vulnerable. He'd come close one or two times — when he told Arram he was sick, and midwinter — but never like he was now.

All of Arram felt hot and unsteady, like the ground had been pulled out from under him and he was falling. He knew he should let Thom go, this was all the alcohol talking. He had to stop this before he fell deeper and deeper into whatever mess was making his heart flutter in his chest, the way it had every time he’d looked at Thom for months now. But he didn’t want it to stop.

Thom opened his mouth to say something, and Arram knew it would shatter this carefully constructed moment. He did the only thing that came to mind.

He leaned forward, bridged the gap between them, and kissed Thom.

Thom froze for a moment, in what was probably — _hopefully_ — surprise before kissing back like Thom was suffocating and Arram was air, a feeling that was decidedly mutual. One of Thom’s hands found its way into Arram’s hair, just sitting there, while the other remained held at the wrist. 

It wasn’t Arram’s first kiss, but it was by far the best. Everything inside him hummed at the feeling, and drove him to want more and more and more. He let go of Thom’s arm to brace a hand against his shoulder instead, the other hand gripping into the delicate silk of Thom’s robes. Arram hated how often he had dreamed of this, of feeling Thom’s lips on his own, pressing close. The feeling was too easy to get lost in, and Arram found himself leaning over Thom, who didn’t mind at all.

They broke away for air, panting against each other. It only took Arram a moment before he was kissing along Thom’s jaw and neck, easily burying his face in the bright red facial hair there. Thom’s hands tightened as Arram gently bit against the flesh, and Thom let out a cut off moan.he sound sent a thrill through Arram. He wanted more. He wanted to hear everything Thom had to offer.

Suddenly, Thom pushed him off. 

It took Arram a minute to reorient , then he glanced at Thom, whose breath was short and strained.

“Thom what’s-” he tried to reach for him, but Thom flinched back. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“You should go,” Thom told him through what sounded like clenched teeth. He was looking away. 

“But I-” Arram started to object.

“Arram,” the words came out breathless and harsh as Thom leveled a glare at him. “Get out.” It sounded so  _ angry,  _ it was an emotional whiplash compared to moments before. 

Arram fled.

* * *

He was  _ miserable.  _

It had been days since Arram had last seen Thom — since he had returned to his dorm room with red rimmed eyes. Ozorne had raised an eyebrow, but Arram decidedly did  _ not _ want to talk about it with his friend. 

Thom hated him now, that was the only reasonable explanation Arram could come up with, and it was destroying him. Thom had become important to him, the singular person he felt he could confide anything in. Not even Varice or Ozorne held that distinction, and Arram had messed it up. Over what? Teenage emotions?  _ Alcohol? _

Varice had tried asking him what was wrong on the second day, but Arram had made it clear that he did  _ not _ want to talk about it. He had never gotten around to telling Varice and Ozorne about Thom, although he suspected they knew something — at least that his evening “studying” was more often in the company of somebody else, rather than alone. If they hadn’t,they surely would have invited themselves along by now, but they had never even brought it up. That left Arramto rationalize that they thought he was sneaking off with a girl, since if they knew he was spending time with a master, they would have at least mentioned it by now. Varice, at least, if not Ozorne. 

He sat in class, staring at the textbook in front of him. He had to focus, the certification exams were coming up and Ozorne wanted them to test for their Mastery. Thom had offered to help before, but now...

Arram felt like crying all over again, something he had been doing on and off since that evening.

It was like a part of him was ripped out and left to bleed. Was this heartbreak? He had never understood when people spoke of it before, and none of his previous partnerships — however short they had been — had left him with such a unique ache. Like every breath was accompanied by a thousand shards of glass.

Some of his classmates were glancing at him, which said more about his state than Arram cared to admit. Even Tristan and Gissa had asked him that morning if he was feeling alright. The entire situation was humiliating, on top of soul-crushing.

Finally,  _ blessedly, _ the bells rang signalling the end of the class period. Arram had no more lessons that day, so he could find somewhere quiet to try to study — and in all likelihood, cry. 

“Arram, a moment?” Lindhall called from the front of the lecture hall.

Varice and Ozorne asked him silently if he wanted them to wait, but he shook his head. Lindhall was probably going to ask him if he was okay as well, and he really didn’t need his friends to witness him start crying. They would never leave him alone if they did.

When the last of the students left, Arram approached the front desk. This space was shared with a number of teachers, unlike Lindhall’s personal office space and work rooms.

Lindhall took a look at Arram, before crossing the room in a few strides. He closed the door, leaving them unlikely to be interrupted so late in the day. Walking back, Lindhall began packing some of the items from the day’s lecture into a bag. 

“It’s Thom, isn’t it?” Lindhall said, quieter than he may have if they were having a regular conversation.

Arram’s could feel the blood drain from his face. He didn’t expect Thom to  _ tell _ anybody. Especially not Lindhall. As far as he was aware, Thom wasn’t on very good terms with the other masters.

“He’s been particularly broody and snappy as of late,” Lindhall continued, either not noticing — or more likely choosing to ignore — Arram’s reaction. “Which, as I likely do not need to tell you, is saying something considering this is  _ Thom _ .”

It was probably telling that Arram’s first reaction was to defend Thom, because what Lindhall said wasn’t true. Sure, Thom could be both of those things. He was certainly impatient and impulsive, but it was more than that. Thom was a deeply unhappy person, and it just felt wrong to judge him by his worst days when Arram had seen him with so much  _ life _ in him. He held his tongue though, because none of that would help the situation. 

“It just so happens,” Lindhall continued, “that his foul mood seems to line up near perfectly with your own.”

Arram opened his mouth to make up an excuse, but Lindhall stopped him with a raised hand. 

“It’s alright Arram, I already know you’ve been spending time with him.” With his bag fully packed, Lindhall set it against the side of the wooden desk, turning his full attention to Arram. “I know you likely don’t want to speak of whatever happened to me, and that’s alright, but I would like you to listen.”

Arram nodded, keeping his mouth closed. If he spoke now, everything would spill out. Months of the way his heart had fluttered at every smirk, every witty remark. The way he always felt  _ lighter _ in Thom’s presence, like the stress of everything melted away.

Lindhall sighed. It sounded long-suffering, and Arram found himself wondering how well the two masters knew each other. Lindhall must be familiar with Thom, if he was aware that they spend time with one another, but Arram had never seen them together.

“Thom is…” Lindhall paused, and eventually settled on “...a complicated individual. He’s bright. Possibly the brightest man I have ever come to meet, but with that come flaws. He has a history that I won’t share with you, since it isn’t mine to tell, but it makes it difficult for him to connect with people. Or to believe that he  _ deserves _ to connect with people; I’m not entirely sure which. I’ve heard he always struggled with these things, but it got worse after everything that happened. But Arram,” Lindhall levelled him with a look he had never seen before. It was some mix between sad and exasperated. “I am telling you this because I would hate to see one of the few good things that have happened to either of you here squandered because of a legacy of destruction and self-sabotage. I believe that Thom is, more than anything, afraid.”

“So what should I do?” Arram asked, desperation leaking into his words. Because Lindhall was right, he’d seen it. Even from that evening when Thom told him to leave, looking back, Arram could  _ see  _ the fear above all else. Thom hated himself, even if he hadn’t said it in as many words. It was painted across every action he took, the way he was willing to let himself suffer when he was in pain. Arram knew that despite all the issues he’d witnessed during his time at the university, Thom was complicated and messy in a way that was unique to him.

“Talk to him, I’d say,” Lindhall said, his voice even. “He’s stubborn, but I know you, Arram. You can be moreso.”

Arram looked down, uncertainty and a myriad of other emotions welling up within him. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

Lindhall squeezed his shoulder. “Then what do you have to lose?”

* * *

If there was one thing Arram had learned in his days at the university, it was how to stand tall. 

He used that skill then, standing outside Thom’s suite. He had already knocked, to which there had been no response. That meant one of three things. Either Thom was out, although that was unlikely, Thom was ill and unconscious and  _ unable _ to answer the door, or Thom was pointedly ignoring everybody.

Arram figured the third was the most likely case.

He tapped his foot anxiously, waiting as the seconds ticked by. After a few moments, he knocked again. Thom had given him a key months ago, in case Arram came by while he was out, but in this situation Arram was loath to use it. However, if Thom didn’t answer the door, anxiety would eventually win out. After all, Arram  _ had _ found him passed out on the floor on several occasions in the past. Although to his credit, Thom was getting better about it.

After another minute or so, Arram knocked a third time, pointedly loud to signify that he wasn’t leaving until Thom answered the godforsaken door. 

Finally, Arram heard movement from the otherside. He let out a breath of relief. As upset as he still was about the entire situation, he was still  _ worried  _ about Thom. Curse his stupid, hopelessly romantic heart.

The door swung open revealing a very angry looking Thom. “What. Do. You. Want.” He snapped, before his eyes widened in recognition of who stood at his door. 

Thom didn’t look well. Arram had seen him in various states before, from ill enough to need immediate medical care, to too deep in study to notice the passage of time. Standing in front of him now, it was clear that Thom had taken the other night hard too. His eyes were bloodshot, either from tears, or lack of sleep — it was hard to tell. His hair hadn’t been brushed recently, and it didn’t look like he’d changed out of his sleeping clothes. 

“Can we talk?” Arram asked, keeping himself from hunching over. He was taller than Thom when he stood straight up — even though he wasn’t finished growing yet — but he often didn’t notice the difference. Thom was the type of person who always seemed larger than he was. 

Thom looked as unsure as Arram felt, but he stepped aside...

The suite looked the same as it had before,down to the discarded wine glasses on the table. Arram wondered if Thom had sat on the sofa, staring at them. He knew if those glasses had been in his space, he wouldn’t have been able to stop looking and remembering.

Arram stepped into the room, lit by sun that streamed through the windows. Even in February, the daylight hours lasted well into the evening in Carthak. Turning around, Arram faced Thom, who was leaning rather uncomfortably against the wall. His arms were crossed protectively over his chest, and he looked ready for Arram to yell at him.

Arram took a few deep breaths to centre himself. “I don’t know what happened to you,” he began, “who hurt you, to make you the way you are now. What made you think that you aren’t worth loving, but I don’t care. You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready. Even if you’re never ready, that’s okay too. But I need you to know that I care for you very deeply. And I can’t imagine waking up and knowing that I won’t get to see you again. It breaks my heart to think about.” He could feel himself getting worked up, and knew he’d start crying again soon, but Arram didn’t particularly care. “I know you’re hurting, and that you’ve been hurting for a long time. And I know I can’t  _ fix _ that, but I hate the idea of not even getting the chance to try. Of watching you fall apart from a distance because you’re  _ so _ ready to push everybody else away. I get it if you don’t feel that way about me, and it's fine if you don’t, but if there's even a chance you do then please. Don’t push me away.”

Thom looked away. He was pale, his breathing shallow. It seemed Arram wasn’t the only one having difficulties holding himself together.

“You don’t understand.” 

“Then explain it to me.” Arram hated hearing the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to get through to Thom, or at least get a solid explanation as to what was wrong. Maybe they could still be friends, at least.

Thom sighed, shoulders slumping in what seemed like defeat. He titled his head backward to rest against the doorframe behind him, his eyes closed. After a moment and a few deep breaths, he pushed himself toward the sofa. 

“Sit down.” he said, “please.” Arram did as he was asked.

Thom held his head in his hands, gathering his thoughts. Eventually, he looked up. His eyes were tired in a way Arram had never seen before. “Tell me,” he began, “what you know of Duke Roger of Conté.”

Whatever Arram was expecting, it wasn’t that. His confusion must have shown, because Thom cracked a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all. 

“Humour me.”

So Arram did. “Just rumours. He was the Duke of Tortall, but he was a student here. People said that he went mad after dying and being brought back, but that’s impossible.” He couldn’t keep the confusion from his voice.

“Yes,” Thom agreed. “It would have been, had he actually been dead.”

Arram blinked a few times. “What does this have to do with-”

“Just,” Thom cut him off, “just hear me out Arram. Please?” There was a desperation in his tone that Arram had never heard before.

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Thom glanced toward the window. It was something he did whenever he was uncomfortable. His hands bunched in the fabric of his sleeping clothes. “Duke Roger was trying to kill the late King and Queen of Tortall, and his cousin, who is now king. He was found out, and killed. Only, he didn’t die. Not truly.” There was a tension in his body, taught like a string about to snap. “Roger had cast an ancient spell on himself called Sorcerer’s Sleep. It was a spell that enabled a person to fall into a state that  _ mimicked _ death, but wasn’t. Their spirit sat in the place in between life and death. He was revived a little less than a year later, but humans were never meant to exist in that place. That was what drove him mad.”

“I’ve heard of that spell,” Arram said, trying to recall. “There was a mention of it in the book you gave me for Midwinter.” Agayfa Chrysanthe’s _ Theory of Corporeality — _ it had claimed a permanent fixture on Arram’s shelf. “There was a passage that spoke of the effects such spells could have when the soul became embodied again.” He cringed, there was nothing good written about such things. “But who would do that for a traitor?” Arram asked.

Thom looked back to him, his eyes so intense that it finally slotted into Arram’s mind. 

“You,” he said, dumbfounded. 

Surprisingly, Thom laughed. It was a humourless sound, and Arram found he didn’t like this one very much. “Yes,” he said, before looking down at his shaking hands. “An old teacher of mine once said that ‘To be young is often to be foolish.’ I was both — that book is proof. It was one of the key sources I pulled from. I suppose I should have paid more attention to what could happen, but I thought my spellwork would surpass that.”

“I don’t understand,” Arram said, shelving the conversation about said book for later. “Why did you-?”

“Pride,” Thom answered. “Simple as that. I had spent years hiding my power, lest Roger find out. Sorcerers who could beat him had a nasty way of disappearing, you know. So, when Roger took interest in my sister...” he shrugged.

His sister. That was another piece of the puzzle then.

“Roger was interested in your sister?”

“Not like that,” Thom answered. “Do you know of Tortall’s Lioness?”

It was another question that came so out of the blue, Arram didn’t understand it at first. The Lioness. Everybody knew stories of her. Varice had mooned over the woman for  _ weeks _ when the news had first broken about her sex, five years previously. 

“She disguised herself as a boy to become a knight,” Arram said slowly.

Thom nodded, still not looking up. “Yes, although that’s not the whole story. She also switched places with her twin.”

Her twin. Thom. 

Arram’s breath caught. 

“Alanna always wanted to become a knight,” Thom went on to say, “and I always wanted to become a sorcerer. I was rubbish with swords and weapons anyway. So we switched. She went to the palace disguised as the first born son, and I went to The City of the Gods as the second.” He shrugged. “I imagine she is much happier with her outcome than I am with mine.” He straightened up a little. “I passed my Mastery Certifications three weeks before my eighteenth birthday.” Arram had known Thom passed his mastery early. He had already been a master when they’d first met, two years ago. Most people didn’t obtain mastery until their thirties. To be so young... people were always amazed at Arram, who would be going for his own soon enough, but Thom must be at least as powerful. “I was the youngest person in the Eastern Lands to obtain Mastery,” he continued, “although I expect that record to be broken by you any day now. It was a big deal, but then everybody found out Alanna is a girl and I just. Didn’t matter anymore.”

“And you wanted to,” Arram added.

“Who wouldn’t?” Thom asked, looking at him. “I know you don’t care for recognition, nor your friend Varice, but Ozorne, or Tristan? Most of your classmates? They would have done the same thing, if they were capable of such complex spellwork.”

“Yes,” Arram agreed easily, because it was true. 

“But it was arrogance. Roger. He-” Thom let out a breath, shaky and unsteady. “He used me,” his voice sounded so vulnerable. “His followers pushed and pushed until I finally broke and brought him back, and that was all Roger needed. He had adjusted the spell so that it tied his gift to mine. He made it so that I was carrying both.”

“Your illness,” Arram said, suddenly realizing it. 

“Yes,” Thom answered. “A person is not meant to carry two gifts. Twins can share one another’s power, for a short amount of time, but that’s all. Roger’s gift  _ corrupted _ mine. Leached into it and twisted it until Roger could call on both at once, without the difficulties of holding it himself. It almost killed me. It  _ should _ have killed me. I think, to this day, that the only reason it didn’t was intervention from the Gods themselves. My sister was champion to the Great Mother, after all.” 

When Thom stopped to breathe, Arram could see the way his entire body shook. He reached across that space, wrapping his arms around Thom, loose enough that he could be brushed off if Thom desired.

Apparently, he didn’t. Instead, Thom curled against him, pressing his face into Arram’s shoulder. “He killed people,” Thom said, his voice wavering. “He took my gift and he used it to  _ kill _ people. He tried to kill my  _ sister _ with it. So many people, better people than me, died. And I’m still here.”

Ah. There it was. The guilt. Thom would have been twenty when that happened. Not all that much older than Arram.

“I survived, and nobody knew what to do with me,” Thom continued. “Alanna loved me, but I hadn’t endeared myself to anybody else. I had no friends I could turn to, and my sister was grieving the loss of so many.” Arram could feel his tunic dampening beneath Thom’s face, and rubbed his friend’s back. “They called for my execution, but my sister’s friends didn’t want that. So they gave me a choice. I could face trial and deal with the outcome, or I could leave, exiled as a traitor. So I left.”

“And you came here,” Arram muttered. 

Thom nodded. “Myles, my sister’s adoptive father, is good friends with Lindhall. But if it wasn’t for her, none of them would have cared about me.” He sat back a little, until he could look Arram in the eyes. His own were red-rimmed and wet. “Don’t you see Arram? I’m a traitor and a murderer. I’ve never been important to anybody, I don’t know  _ how _ to be. And Roger... All Roger taught me is how easy it is for somebody older and more experienced to twist the mind of somebody younger than them.”

“Were you and he...?” Arram asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer, but he had to. He had to understand what was going on in Thom’s head. 

Thom nodded again, closing his eyes. “Yeah. He was my first.”  As if the entire conversation wasn’t heartbreaking enough.

“You’re scared of doing to me what Roger did to you,” Arram guessed.

“I don't know how not to break everything I touch,” he whispered.

Arram pressed his forehead against Thom’s. There wasn’t a lot he could say in response to that. Thom wouldn’t believe him if he said that it wasn’t true, or that Thom could learn.

“I used to think that I loved nothing but my gift and my sister,” Thom said eventually. “Now, my gift makes my skin crawl, and my sister probably thinks me dead. She’s  _ better off _ thinking I’m dead. I’m used, Arram. Broken.” Arram pulled back at that. “The leftovers of a man that turned everything to dust. You deserve better than that. Than somebody like me.”

Reaching up with his sleeve, Arram wiped at the tears on Thom’s face. “I think you’re so much more than that,” he said. “I don’t look at you and see somebody broken. You’re struggling, maybe a little cracked, a little bruised, but not fundamentally damaged. Not beyond hope or help or  _ love. _ ” He put emphasis on the word. “I look at you and see somebody who has made mistakes, but _ regrets _ them, and has learned from them.” 

He reached forward, and brushed a piece of red hair behind Thom’s ear, but didn’t pull his hand away after. Instead, he let it sit against Thom’s cheek. “I see somebody who needs a little bit of help. That’s all. And I want to help you.”

Thom let out a shaky breath, and Arram rested their foreheads against each other’s. 

“Let me help Thom. Please.”

“Okay,” the words came out as a whisper. Delicate as dandelion seeds, so easy to break and pull away.

So instead, Arram kissed him. It was soft, this time. Slow and sweet, like honey, or syrup. 

“Come on,” Arram said, standing up. “Let's get you cleaned up.” He held out his hand, and waited patiently for Thom to take it, before pulling him up and toward his bedroom. 

Later, when Thom was clean and changed, Arram sat behind him as he brushed out his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Thom said.

Arram stilled for a moment, before he continued the rhythmic brushing. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m a mess.”

“You just need a little help.”

Thom fell silent after that, but he ate when Arram handed him food, and curled up next to him in bed. 

It was some time later, laying in the darkness of the room, that Arram muttered, “I really care about you, Thom.”

And in the darkness, Thom curled against him even more and responded, “Yeah. Me too.”

It wasn’t quite a confession of love, but it was close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thom? Feeling guilt? Hating his gift? Its more likely than you think!  
> Also there was definitely a conversation at a later date about why the hell Thom brought that book with him from Tortall, to which Thom responded "its a first edition Arram. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get? I wasn't about to throw it away."


End file.
